


Reinforcement Theory

by miserygrave



Series: Suspension Bridge Effect [4]
Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Corporal Punishment, Drug Use, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-10 19:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserygrave/pseuds/miserygrave
Summary: Combo's dead and the operation starts coming apart at the seams. Walt puts Jesse in line with the tired and true tactic of using the carrot and the stick approach.





	1. Negative Reinforcement

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of two! Walt has a temper that comes out in full force, unfortunately for Jesse.

Combo's dead. He's dead. One of his closest friends _was killed._ Jesse stays cooped up in his house and doesn't even go to the funeral. He wants to get fucked up out of his mind so badly that is almost scares him. Mr. White hadn't even remembered who Combo was. Did it not even fucking matter to him at all that someone had died?

Jesse curses him in his head, unsteadily digging out a shard of blue crystal from his personal stash and smashing it up on his kitchen counter until it's powder. It was all Mr. White's fault. He'd been the one to get them to expand into the other gangs’ territories. They'd all known it was a bad idea but it was okay until…

_Shit_. He rubs at his eyes until the watery feeling goes away.

Skinny and Badger had bailed on him, not that he could blame them, and that left them with a shit ton of meth and nothing to fucking do with it. Not now that the whole town knew it wasn't him who killed Spooge. He laughs to himself jaggedly. Too bad they didn't use Mr. White's _actual_ murders for their reputation. They wouldn't have fucked with them if they'd known Mr. White had killed Krazy-8 and melted him into raspberry goo.

He rolls up a bill from his pocket and snorts a line.

His phone rings and when he pulls it out, it's Mr. White's name. It takes every last little bit of patience, not exactly helped along by his hit, to not smash the phone until it's powder too. He tries to stop the blood thumping in his ears from how insanely pissed off he is, struggles to breathe evenly, and manages not to break it. It rings and rings, finally stopping for about two seconds before it rings again.

He snaps it open. “What?”

“Don't 'what’ me,” Mr. White snarls, as if Jesse would be scared of him from over the phone. (He refuses to think he probably would have been a little scared if he hadn't just taken a line of blue.) “We have a meeting with Saul in an hour. Don't make me drag your ass over there.”

“Wow,” Jesse fires back sarcastically. “I'm surprised you remember Saul's name. Oh, wait, it's because he's _useful_ to you, right? 'Cause he's not a fucking junkie?”

Terse silence meets him. Jesse’s disgusted with himself that he still feels the way he does about a guy as insensitive, as fucking outright awful as a guy like Mr. White who didn't even have the guts to _

“I'm sorry,” Mr. White says with a bite in his voice that makes him realize this is probably the first time Mr. White has ever apologized to him.

The rush is picking up now. “Sorry for what, bitch?” Jesse pushes him.

He hears a sharp exhale of breath. “I am sorry your friend died. And I'm sorry that I wasn't more sensitive about it.” God, he doesn't have to sound like Jesse's torturing the fucking apology out of him. But it feels nice. He's not sure if it's the rush, or just Mr. White's ability to spin his words just the right way, but something about it makes him less violently angry.

“Yeah, well… Sorry can't do anything for him now, yo. Too little, too late.” And that's the fucked up truth he wants to escape. There's no coming back from that. Not ever. Combo's dead _forever._ And he hadn't even gone to his funeral.

The tears almost come back but the high is coming on so he lets it slide off his shoulders.

“How are you feeling? About it, I mean?”

Jesse shakes himself out. He doesn't feel that bad anymore. When he's on Mr. White's crystal - _their_ crystal - it's like nothing can touch him. So pure, so good that it's downright heavenly. So he shrugs and says, “I'm okay. I'm dealing.” He giggles a bit at that before he can help it. _Dealing._

“Are… Are you using?” Mr. White asks, sounding scandalized.

“Maybe, just like a bit. What's it matter anyways? I'm just a pathetic, no good junkie, right? I mean, you probably wouldn't even give a shit if I died either, right? May as well have fun while I'm still here!” Logically he knows it's probably not a great idea to goad Mr. White like this when he's high and when they've got a meeting with Saul to go to in under an hour. But does that stop him? Absolutely not.

“I'm coming over.” It's hard to define the emotion that's in Mr. White's voice. All he knows is that it doesn't sound good. Without saying another word, the call ends and he's standing there listening to dead air.

Jesse just shuts his phone and feels the tiniest sliver of worry worm in under the brilliant high, so he quickly takes another few lines until the evidence is gone.

When he hears Mr. White knock on his door a dozen minutes later, part of him wonders if he could just leave it closed, lock the guy out until he left to go see Saul because the lawyer would probably charge them even if they didn't show up and Mr. White hates losing money for no reason. But then he remembers when he tried doing that after Emilio, smoking up in his bathroom with the door locked, and Mr. White had kicked the fucking door in. So he opens it up. The path of least resistance is always best. And he really doesn't want to explain to Jane why his psycho partner was breaking his front door.

Mr. White slowly steps in, eyes raking the room like he expects to see drugs everywhere. Jesse holds his arms out, challenging him to say anything, do anything.

Mr. White's mouth twists and his eyes narrow. “What the hell are you doing getting high when we have business we need to attend to?”

Jesse's not even mad at him anymore, not for his bullshit about Combo, not for the way he doesn't care about anyone but himself, not even for the way he tells him what to do like he owns him. He's not mad, not sad - just floating nicely on a little cloud of happiness way above those shitty feelings.

“So what?”

“So what?” Mr. White repeats, looking caught between being pissed off and shocked. “Jesse…”

He's so done listening to him talk. Having sex while high is one of the best fucking things in the world, and he hasn't had the luxury of being fucked into the bed by Mr. White while he's on crystal yet. They've got time before they have to see Saul. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and tugs his shirt off.

“What the hell are you doing?"

“Come on, Mr. White. Let's have some make-up sex,” Jesse grins, slipping his pants off too, sidling up to Mr. White only to be shoved back. “What the fuck, bitch?”

Mr. White seethes at him, “If you think I have any fucking interest in you, you're sorely mistaken.”

“Oh yeah?” Jesse challenges with a raised brow. “'Cause, it's weird, y'know, I seem to remember you being plenty interested before. I've gotten the, uh, ‘evidence’ _all_ over me.”

Mr. White's eyes flash, cutting away from him and over to one of the shitty chairs he's gotten to put in front of his TV that isn't even set up yet. Body stiff with tension, Mr. White goes and sits down in the chair, perching himself near the edge of it. With that angry, dark look in his eyes he pats his lap. Jesse hesitates.

“You want me to touch you? Then come here.”

The meth helps make the decision for him, and he plops himself down - or starts to, until Mr. White snatches him around the waist and manhandles him into laying across his lap.

“What the fuck -” He breaks off into a brittle shout of pain when a hand cracks down across his ass and an arm braces itself heavily over its back to keep him in place. “Oh, _fuck_ \- what the fuck are you doing?”

Mr. White's face looks scary and he grinds out from behind gritted teeth, “I'm teaching you a lesson in respect.” He brings his hand down again, and again, and again, until Jesse feels like his ass is probably all red and raw. “How _hard_ is it - to go _one_ goddamn day - without getting high?”

Jesse tries squirming away again because it's starting to hurt so fucking bad his eyes are starting to tear up, but Mr. White pushes so hard down on his back into his thighs that Jesse can barely breathe, and the hand is still coming down on him like a jackhammer.

Jesse's never been spanked like this. Not ever. Not by his mother, not his father, not a single fucking person has ever hit him like this and it's almost unbelievable how bad it's hurting, like the skin is being slowly cut off by each swing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck - _stop,_ Mr. White, holy shit -” he chokes out, but his pleas go unheard, smothered under the loud clap of skin on skin in the den of his duplex.

In a brief pause, as Jesse struggles to breathe past his tears and pressure weighing down on him, because _fuck_ he's started crying like a little kid, snot and spit messily dripping down his face, Mr. White rubs over his ass gently but it burns so badly Jesse cries harder.

“Listen to me. I told you how special you are to me, didn't I?” Jesse hiccups wetly and nods his head, sniveling as Mr. White presses his fingers against him like five red-hot brands. “I'm sorry about your friend, I am. But you're the only one who matters to me. You're my _partner_. I need to be able to rely on you and I can't do that if you're getting high before business meetings. You understand, don't you?”

Jesse can barely hear him over his quaking sobs and pounding blood in his ears.

Mr. White taps his hand against the swell of his ass and he jerks his hips forward away from it, since he can't escape upwards. Somewhere through the dimness of the pain, he feels a gut twisting burst of arousal and breathes shakily.

“Jesse, do you understand?”

He whimpers and thrusts his hips forward again, trying to chase the little bit of bliss he felt.

Mr. White heaves a sigh. As though he’s hearing it from somewhere far away, Jesse barely notices the clink of a belt buckle and the slide of leather through cloth. He turns as much as Mr. White’s iron grip will let him and feels a cold sweat break out as Mr. White manages to fold his belt over in one hand. And then, before Jesse can really compute what's happening and brace himself, Mr. White starts lashing him, putting more effort into it than before, hitting him like he wishes he could just beat the shit out of him like Tuco did.

The belt feels a thousand times more intense than the hand had. It hurts and hurts and _hurts_ until his head starts tuning everything else out. He can't even fucking think past how bad it feels. A smack lands on the inside of his thigh and the sound that comes out of his mouth would have killed him with embarrassment if he even had two brain cells left over to care.

He clutches his hands tightly in Mr. White's pants, one near his calve and one on his thigh, and bawls his eyes out, spit and tears slowly dripping off his chin and onto the floor.

“Mr. White, _pl-please stop_ , stop, I’m fuh- I’m fucking sorry -” he begs, blubbering as the smacks keep their pace until he swears to God his ass is bleeding.

“Not until you learn your lesson.”

And the belt switches over the soft area where his ass meets his legs and then lower over his thighs and he nearly starts crying himself hoarse, each lash driving him out of his mind into a white haze of pain. But then, as he feels like he could pass out from how much hurt he’s in, the heat starts mutating into something different and Jesse thrusts his hips pitifully, with as much room as Mr. White will give him, realizing dimly that his cock is trapped between his body and Mr. White’s thigh.

And then the blows stop, but it almost feels worse, and Jesse whimpers. Everything around his ass is throbbing.

Mr. White's hand presses hard against his sharply aching ass, makes him grind his hips into the rough material of his pants. Holy shit. Oh, holy _shit_. He's hard. Like starting to drool pre-come, ready to burst from the seams hard. He rubs himself forward again and almost blacks out. The most devilish part of Mr. White always was his supernatural ability to hurt him and make him feel good all at once until he can't even distinguish between the two.

Two hands hook under his armpits and lift him up, gently coaxing him until he's standing up, legs barely holding his weight and he's still sniveling and sobbing because his ass is radiating pain all over his body.

Mr. White is slowly running his hands up and down his sides, gently stroking his stomach as it quivers from his crying. “Jesse,” Mr. White says warmly, leaning in to kiss his quaking chest. “Do you understand now? I need you. I need to be able to rely on you. Okay?”

“Uh,” Jesse manages, dick throbbing in the air between them. He just needs a little bit, the tiniest little bit, to knock him right through the fucking clouds and out into the stratosphere.

Mr. White scoots back and pats his lap again. All of Jesse's insides turn into anxious, aroused goo, and the heat in his backside starts crawling under his skin, covering his body until he's sweating.

“Come here, son,” Mr. White entreats.

Trembling so hard he's amazed he doesn't fall flat on his ass, he slowly bends down to lay himself over Mr. White's legs again even though it's harder now that he's further back in the chair.

“No, I want you here.” Mr. White gently manoeuvres him back towards him, hands running just above his ass on his lower back, making him twitch with anticipation.

There's not a lot of room, and a very dim part of Jesse's brain wonders if the chair will just give out under their combined weight like this, but it just creaks slightly as he carefully kneels, spreading his legs over Mr. White's. The instant his ass brushes Mr. White's pants, he feels the white-hot bursts of pain mixed with a confused, intense arousal.

He hestitantly stops himself from settling all the way down, isn't sure if he can handle the feeling. It's like there's a hook, just behind his navel, pulling hard until he's sure his guts are going to start bursting out. But then the hands are at his waist, pressing him until he's sitting fully on Mr. White's lap.

“ _Ah_ ,” Jesse moans, unable to stop his instinct to twist away from the pain and just getting more of it as a reward until he's stuck in a vicious little loop of grinding his ass into the pain while trying vainly to escape it.

“Jesse, it's alright. I'll take care of you.”

“ _Uhn…_ ” The hook is pulling harder, begging to rip him open.

Mr. White kisses his sweaty forehead, nuzzles along his damp hairline, says, “Be a good boy for me, Jesse. Be a good boy. Okay? Let's just move past what happened, focus on the future. You and me. Yeah? Can we do that?”

Yeah, he wants that. He wants to do whatever Mr. White is saying so badly, even though he can't fucking figure it out he's so messed up right now, just so he can break the tension inside him. He needs Mr. White to crack him like a glow stick until his guts mix all up inside.

So he nods his head along and lets Mr. White grab his ass firmly with one hand, each finger bruising, and the other curling around his dick. Without warning, Mr. White yanks him forward along the incomprehensibly rough fabric of his pants, so completely at odds with the gentle press of his lips in his hair and the soothing sound of his voice and the warm hand around his twitching dick, hushing him as the hook guts him and he howls and comes in jerking stripes across his stomach.

He's not sure how much later it takes until he starts to come down. His entire body is twitching, shaking, and he's gasping for air like he's just run a marathon. Faintly he realizes Mr. White is running his hands up and down his back, quietly humming some tune as his pieces gradually click back into place.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. God his ass hurts. He slowly sits up, hissing at the sting.

“You alright to stand up?” the number one jackass in the world asks, holding him steady while he stumbles to get up.

Jesse grimaces. “Yeah, I guess. Warn a guy before you decide to go all psycho on him, huh? Goddamn.” He limps to the bathroom and turns around to get a look at himself. From the beginning of where his back meets his ass and ass meets thighs is covered in a dark, angry red, and he can see some spots where the skin broke just slightly. He flicks his eyes up and meets Mr. White's in the mirror. The guy doesn't look remotely guilty.

“Warn a guy before you act like an idiot by using before a business -” Mr. White twitches and looks at his watch. “We have to hurry on that, by the way. Shower and get dressed.”

Jesse gives him the most incredulous look he can muster. “You're shitting me right? I'll fucking die if you make me sit down right now.”

“I thought meth helps with pain.”

He grits his teeth. “It sure didn't help me when you were beating my ass black and blue, you fucking asshole.” His face is still covered with salty tear tracks, snot, and drying drool. God he looks disgusting.

“Jesse… Please? For me?”

And just like that his will is wavering. He screws his eyes shut, feels the high of the meth and the high of the pain and the high of the orgasm, and finally he gives in. “Fine. But you're buying me some like, pain relief cream or something, and then you're buying me Dairy Queen because otherwise I'm gonna bitch.”

Mr. White kisses his temple and says, “Deal.”


	2. Positive Reinforcement

“Remember what I said, Jesse.”

As if he could forget. He's completely clean, not even any pot in his system, and he's tried to look more business like and less… like himself, so he figures Mr. White should be satisfied already that Jesse is following the rules.

“We can't afford to mess this up.”

“Yeah, man, I get it,” Jesse grumpily says, looking out the window and keeping his focus purely on the reward that would be coming if he kept his mouth shut when they were talking to Saul's guy. Mr. White hadn't even said  _ what  _ his reward would be but he wanted to find out bad enough that he would keep his trap shut even though they were supposed to be fifty-fifty partners.

Saul had promised to get them in contact with some sort of low-profile distributor, and so he had - even with the flimsy “I know a guy who knows a guy who knows another guy” routine. After the little “argument” they'd had, the meeting with their sleazy lawyer had gone about as smoothly as possible. Jesse doesn't fully know if it was the meth high or the crazy hot spanking he got that kept him so zen during Saul talking his usual shit, but whatever it was, it's still lingering around the edges of his brain like fuzz, softening the wild ride he's been living for the past few months and making him feel less like he's going insane.

They sit in the mildly uncomfortable benches of Los Pollos Hermanos for about a half hour, which is  _ hell _ on the last lingering bruises he's got on his ass. Jesse's picking idly at the food they'd bought just to seem less suspicious, and Mr. White's doing everything  _ to _ look suspicious by angling his head around and trying to figure out who the guy was.

“So…” Jesse leans in carefully. “It's sex right?”

Mr. White swivels his head and gives him a confused look.

“The reward. It's gotta be sex.”

A flash of understanding lights up Mr. White's face before he gives him a smug smile. “You'll find out what the reward is if you behave and things go well for us.”

Jesse purses his lips. He's about to start arguing and needling to find out what it could be when the tall, thin guy - the manager? - comes by their table and asks them if they need anything, if everything's alright, if they need refills. This is the second times he's gone over to them and it's not like they've been super invested in their meals so Jesse figures he's trying to politely tell them to leave.

“Are you the man we're here to meet?” Mr. White asks before Jesse can say anything. He's got his serious face on now, and Jesse straightens up.

“I'm sorry sir?” the manager responds politely, looking down at them from behind delicately framed glasses.

Mr. White gives him a long look and then slides over in his seat to give the man room to sit down, and to Jesse's slight surprise he does. Saul's guy was… an employee at a chicken food place?

“Walter White, I presume.” The guy shakes hands with Mr. White and then looks cooly at him. “Jesse Pinkman.” And then his eyes slide away back to Mr. White like Jesse's nothing but a disgusting little bug. “My name is Gustavo Fring. Please call me Gus.”

“It's nice to meet you, Gus,” Mr. White smiles, looking perfectly polite.

Jesse gets a small kick under the table and mutters, “Nice to meet you.” He goes silent again and let's Mr. White do all the talking just like he promised he would, because if he does he gets a reward. That thought circles around his head a few more times until he stops wanting to punch this guy.

“I’m a careful man, Walter, as I’m sure you’ve heard. I do not deal easily with people I do not know, and I desire even less to deal with… addicts.” Jesse frowns at the dig against him but bites his tongue.

“Don’t worry about that. Jesse is clean.”

_ Yeah, for how long? _ Jesse wonders to himself. Honestly he might be  _ more _ inclined to use if Mr. White planned on spanking him until he cried and jizzed all over himself from it. It was like a fucked up positive reinforcement, and Jesse's all about positive reinforcements. He shifts on the vinyl seating and feels the pressure on his lingering bruises and wonders how he can use pissing off Mr. White to his advantage.

“We work extremely well together, and the product we have waiting is the purest I believe is on the market.” That’s an understatement, and Jesse’s frown turns into a grin when he hears Mr. White inadvertently praise him. It's not that often that Mr. White acknowledges how they work together to make their product, and yeah sure, Mr. White could probably do it all on his own, but the fact that he thinks Jesse matters, enough to say it to their potential distributor, is an ego boost.

“I understand that your product is very sought after. This is the only reason we are speaking. However, I do not do business with someone I cannot trust.” Gus’s eyes glint coldly behind the shine of his glasses. “And I  _ do not _ trust addicts.”

He’s going to bite his tongue right off at this point trying not to argue with this guy, but Mr. White smoothly intercepts. “You don't have to worry about that. Jesse is perfectly able to keep himself clean for work. Look at him now - he's not using.”

Jesse stares at his napkin and fiddles around with it to stop himself from being amazed at how boldly Mr. White is willing to lie to this guy. It was only a few days before when Mr. White himself had lost his shit over Jesse  _ not _ being able to keep himself clean for work.

Gus hums and sounds unconvinced.

Mr. White sweetens the pot. “We currently have 38 pounds, right now, ready to be sold. You can consider that our sample.”

38 pounds that’s currently burning a hole in the wood under his sink. He’s gonna be so glad to get that shit out of his house because not binging the product had been a fucking trial, especially after Spooge and Combo.

Gus looks appreciatively at Mr. White, impressed at the amount, and Jesse takes a loud sip of his drink. He was there too. He’d helped cook it too! Goddamn. But neither of them even look at him.

“I would be perfectly willing to accept that for a fair market price, and I can promise there would be more than that on the table should I decide it is amenable to continue business with you.” There’s a threat in his voice, wanting to make Mr. White give him up, roll on him, but that ain’t happening.

To prove his point, Mr. White sighs, spreading his hands like he’s disappointed but ready to accept it, “If you cannot accept the two of us together, I completely understand. Our business could end there. Totally amicable.”

Jesse watches as Gus tilts his head, expression shifting minutely. Then he stands up, smiling politely at Mr. White and says, “I shall be in contact.” He walks away without giving Jesse more than a cursory tilt of his head.

* * *

And just like that they've got a deal to trade the meth they've got for what will end up being over a million dollars. All they have to do is wait for the signal from Gus and his guys. That’s a nice price tag for the convenience of unloading it all at once, but Jesse is still fucking steaming from how Gus talked over him like he wasn't even there. Sure, Mr. White had wanted him to stay quiet but that Fring asshole hadn't even wanted to acknowledge Jesse was there as a partner.

And the way he'd sat there so prim and proper, casually telling them what’s what… He'd expected Mr. White to get pissed off too but he actually looked like he was into it, nodding respectfully and giving his full attention until it was like he was ignoring Jesse too.

Whatever. He'd been clean for the meeting, he'd kept his mouth shut, and now he's heading home with Mr. White and he's going to get his fucking reward or else he's gonna riot.

Mr. White pulls his car up to the side of the street. He'd driven Jesse to make sure they arrived on time together, like he was a kid and couldn't make sure of that himself. Honestly, this guy could piss him off sometimes. He shakily pulls his seatbelt off, struggling with the desire to lean over and touch his partner. It's like when you're starving and once you get the hint of food, you can't stop salivating, like you're gonna die unless you get it  _ right this second _ , but Mr. White gets out of the car and heads to his front door before he can lose his cool.

Jesse starts unlocking his door just as Jane opens up and leaves hers, looking over at them with an amused look. Then she winks at Jesse and gives him a thumbs up. He awkwardly gives her a thumbs up back, confused, before he gets yanked inside.

“You did such a good job, Jesse,” Mr. White praises him, slowly undoing Jesse's hoodies and pulling them off.

It's sorta stupid that's all it takes to get him to not be mad anymore. All that he's thinking with is his dick now, pulling off his clothes and getting them both perfectly naked for this 'reward’. But then Mr. White stops him before they can start making out and fuck.

“Dude,” Jesse whines, dick already standing up against his stomach.

“Let's have a shower.” And then he gets pulled by the hand towards his bathroom.

That gets Jesse a little more hopeful again. “Shower sex?” His only answer is a quick smile over Mr. White's shoulder.

It's not shower sex. Mr. White is cleaning them both down, scrubbing almost every inch and honestly it would feel kinda nice if he wasn't already crawling out of his skin with the desire to come, and his dick is the part that's getting ignored. Something that's  _ not _ being ignored though, is his asshole. Mr. White's carefully fingering him, avoiding his prostate but worming his finger in and out until he's satisfied with something and turns the shower off.

“Bed, please,  _ now _ .” This is supposed to be his reward goddammit, not some sort of perverted punishment designed to kill him via blue balls. Thankfully, Mr. White kisses him and even though they're both still wet, he directs them back towards Jesse's bed which has moved from the living room to the back room.

Jesse follows Mr. White down onto the bed, straddling him and rolling their hips together. Mr. White pulls back, ignoring his needy whine and orders him to turn around. After a second of hesitation he flips onto his back.

“No, Jesse. I want you down here,” Mr. White explains, tapping the side of his dick, “and I want your ass up here.”

Oh shit,  _ yes.  _ He can feel himself already start to drip. They're going to 69 and it's going to be the hottest fucking thing he's ever done in bed. Mr. White had curiously licked the tip of his dick once and he'd exploded out of his fucking skin, so he's pretty sure he's going to last about two seconds this time. Maybe.

Raising himself up above Mr. White's body with his hands braced on the thighs under him, he repositions himself, drooling over the dick laying thickly between Mr. White's legs.

“Go ahead,” Mr. White invites him while tugging his hips into position.

That's all he needs, and he leans down to suck Mr. White nearly to the base. He's gotten a lot better at blowing him, hardly chokes anymore unless he wants to pretend because the gagging sound is kinda hot.

The heavy heat of it on his tongue is still as addicting as ever, pulsing in the hot wet of his mouth. At this angle, with his weight on Mr. White's hips and legs, it would probably be hard for Mr. White to take control of it, so he cruelly decides to take his time teasing the tip of it, just because he can.

His idea for revenge gets thrown out the window once he feels a tongue melting a trail up over his balls, his taint, and slowly swirling around his hole.

Jesse comes over Mr. White's chest before he can stop himself, moaning helplessly around the tip of his dick, twitching as Mr. White just  _ breathes _ on him.

He shakily pulls his head back and raises up on trembling arms to look down under himself and at Mr. White. “What are you doing?”

The older man's eyebrows just quirk at him as if to say, “What does it feel like?”

Jesse bites his bottom lip so hard for a second he's sure he'll bleed. He watches as Mr. White runs a hand over his chest and scoops up the jizz, and then he starts jerking Jesse off with it.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” he whimpers. He'll never get used to how stomach churning it feels to get his dick stroked right after he's come. It feels like vertigo, like he's too high up and the hand is just bringing him higher and higher until it's scary to come back down.

“Keep sucking.”

Jesse idly realizes that all he's been doing is staring down at the spectacle so he runs his mouth back over his cock.

“Good boy,” Mr. White coos, twisting his hand around Jesse's erection painfully, forcing him to stay hard, and then he gently licks over Jesse's hole again. One of his fingers plays around the edge as he licks hard over it once, then dips the tip of it slightly inside. His tongue is so much fucking hotter and wetter than his dick, wriggling its way inside and the one finger pulling him open to give him some more room.

A cracked groan runs out of his mouth. When Mr. White sucks on the rim of him, the strength flies out of his arms and he collapses onto Mr. White’s dick, and his nose gets pressed against the guy’s balls. The smell of his musk is so strong it smothers him, makes it feel even harder to breathe and think, and it makes his blood boil so hot he feels like he’s going to burn away.

And like this, head buried in Mr. White's crotch and drooling pathetically over him, it gives  _ just _ enough room for Mr. White to easily roll his hips up and fuck his mouth gently.

Mr. White scrubs his goatee over his ass and Jesse honest to God thinks he's about to pass out because his brain has melted into goo and he can barely breathe around the dick in his throat. The skin of his arms and legs prickle when Mr. White barely runs his teeth over the rim, so slightly he almost wouldn't have felt it if he wasn't hyperfocused on it.

Mr. White shoves two fingers inside him and scissors him open, jamming his tongue inside as far as it can go as his thumb presses hard down onto his taint and his other hand rubs relentlessly over the weeping head of his dick. Jesse comes again, sobbing around Mr. White's cock and he can't even fucking remember to swallow as Mr. White shoots into his mouth, letting it all dribble out as he whimpers and moans and shakes.

Bonelessly, he lets Mr. White manipulate him to laying back up against him, chests rubbing together in the mess that Jesse made. He lies there trembling as Mr. White kisses him hard, mixing the taste of them both together.

“Did you like that Jesse?” he asks, breathing hard. “Tell me.”

Dazedly, he nods his head, slurring, “‘S fucking good.”

“Good. Good, that's good. You're so precious, son. That was your reward for listening to me, for doing what I said. If you listen to me, I'll give that to you whenever you want. You understand?”

His goopy brain tries to find the catch, but he doesn't even give a shit if Mr. White is tricking him right now. If he has to sacrifice some of his pride for that? Then holy fuck yes, he'd let Mr. White wear the pants in their relationship any day of the week, sit there and let him and the chicken man talk over him like he doesn't exist.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Mr. White kisses him again until his stomach flutters with that fucking light and breezy feeling of love, so bright in his guts he asks, “Can you stay over tonight?”

Immediately he comes back down from his high and grits his teeth to wait for the denial. He hadn't asked since that one fucked up time he'd pretended to be a girl, Mr. White's wife, because he didn't think he could stomach being turned down again.

Surprisingly, it doesn't come right away and when he looks at the older man's face he sees Mr. White thinking hard.

“Let me make a call, okay?”

Jesse nods with breathless hope and lets him get up. Mr. White grabs his cell and steps away to call what he assumes is his wife. After a minute he comes back and Jesse doesn't even want to picture how stupid his face looks, how ready to have his heart stepped on again he is, but then Mr. White smiles at him and he can breathe again.

“For real?” Jesse asks in disbelief.

“For real,” Mr. White echoes. “Now let's get washed up again. I'm not really a fan.” He looks down at himself and grimaces at the sticky come covering his chest and crotch.

It's a good fucking shower, all slow, gentle kissing and Mr. White telling him over and over again how much of a good boy he is while his insides get twisted up so badly he knows he'll never be able to let go of Mr. White. Not now, not ever. Jesse wants the night to go on forever.

“Jesse,” Mr. White murmurs against his neck, holding him in the steamy bathroom. “Will you do something for me?”

If he keeps rubbing his goatee so nicely against Jesse’s neck after rimming him, he’d probably do anything. He’d already basically promised to do whatever the guy said anyways, so he shrugs. “Yeah. What?”

“Would you stop using drugs? For me?”

He licks his lips. Go clean? That was a lot to ask from a guy like him, and he knows it's probably just to make things go smoother with Fring, but then again… Mr. White had always called him a pathetic junkie. Obviously Mr. White hated the fact he used drugs, had even spanked the ever living shit out of him for doing them, so  _ maybe _ it wasn't for Fring at all, and that might make it a little easier to stomach.

Jesse can't say no to the request outright, so he tells the truth instead. “I'm not sure if I can.”

“You can go to meetings. Or rehab, if you think that might help. But, Jesse,” Mr. White sounds so earnest that Jesse isn't ready for what comes next, “If you use, I won't do this anymore. Alright?”

His heart skips a few beats. “Do what?”

“I can't be with you anymore if you hurt yourself like that. I can't watch you do that anymore.”

And just like that, Jesse knows he doesn't have a fucking choice. Mr. White's still talking but it doesn't matter. Jesse shuts him up by kissing him firmly.

“Fine,” he hisses into the steamy air. It's not a small sacrifice - he’s been using for  _ years _ . But it's not like he's going to stop using, he reasons to himself - he'll just be changing his drug of choice from meth to Mr. White on a more permanent basis. Jesse hopes he's ready to accept those consequences.

Mr. White smiles so brightly at him he wishes he could get a picture of it and keep it for when he's got the urge to use.

After the ultimatum, they go back to bed together, and he falls asleep curled up against the older man's chest, sleeping better than he has in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> next chapter (hopefully won't take as long to put out ;w;) will be Positive Reinforcement!


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